Chapter Two: The Man in Room 409
Warsaw, Poland
November 16, 1812
"Bjorgson said to me: 'You take my coat when I'm gone. Use it to keep warm. Get back home and if you can, come to Arendelle and give it to my son. Tell him his father wore it proudly.' I told him he could give the coat himself when he comes home. I said he was being silly. He was Arendellian, for heaven's sake. His Queen rules the snow and he better live up to her reputation. If there was someone who was gonna die of cold it would be me. I'm Weseltonian, our Duke hates his Ice Queen. I waited for him to laugh just like the dozens of times he did when we traded jokes like this in the camp. But he didn't. I looked at him and he was gone. Just like that."
The man hung his head and sniffled tearfully. "Bjorgson was my friend. He was gone and there was nothing I could do."
Anna held the stump that used to be the man's hand and gently caressed it. "He was my friend too," she said. "I knew Bjorgson's wife. She made dresses for me and my sister. Their daughters always helped us with the fittings and their son, little Peter carried the packages. We always had their family over for celebrations during the New Year..."
Anna's voice faltered and she fought back her own tears. Come New Year the Bjorgson family would not be celebrating together as a whole. They never will again.
"I know there is a ban on Weseltonians in Arendelle imposed by your sister, Princess Anna," the man went on in a slightly embarrassed manner. "But if you will permit me, will you allow me into your country to give Bjorgson's coat to his son as he wanted."
Ann felt tears prickle her eyes and she no longer held them back. She let them roll down her cheeks as she nodded. "You will always be welcome Lt. Hundt. It's time to heal those wounds between our countries. I will speak to Elsa about it."
"Thank you, thank you, your highness," the man said gratefully as he lay back down on the bed. Anna knew she should let the man rest. She said goodbye to him and took her leave.
She headed to the nurse's station and took out her journal she kept on the shelf below the counter. She opened it, searched for the name and scribbled a few words right next to it:
Private Josef Bjorgson – Survived through the occupation of Moscow. Killed in action on the winter retreat to Warsaw on the 2nd of November, 1812.
She let out a sigh. She felt a strange sense of relief in writing those words "killed in action" next to another Arendellian name. It was somehow comforting to know for certain one man's fate, fatal as it may be, instead of pondering endlessly if a worse event had befallen him.
Anna was tortured daily with such uncertain pondering for the space next to Kristoff's name in her journal had remained blank.
The weeks that followed the Battle of Borodino had been relatively slow in the hospital. Once the aftermath of that carnage from that September day had passed, very few new patients arrived. In fact, except for the occasional illness from the members of the local militia stationed on the borders of Russia and Poland, no new injuries from the fighting force came through the doors. It seemed like a sign of good tidings and everyone began to think that the worst was over.
News from the frontlines was slow and it was only by first week of October that they received word that Napoleon and the Grand Army had taken Moscow in mid-September. Anna had rejoiced with her colleagues in the hospital at the news then. For days, there was much celebrating and she even wrote to Elsa that she should start planning for a party for they would be back soon. Certainly, Czar Alexander I had surrendered by now and the Grand Army was on its way home. It was a victory. No one doubted it.
However, as days turned into weeks with no news of a Russian surrender and the cold winds began to creep in, the atmosphere of fear began to return.
What was going on? Why hasn't the army turned back? Why hasn't Napoleon sent for a new company of administrators to help with governing this new conquered territory under the French Empire? These were the questions on everyone's minds that were finally answered on All Hallows Eve. That grim night, the first cart bearing tired, hungry and frostbitten soldiers arrived and revealed the truth: Russia didn't surrender at all.
The Grand Army found Moscow much like they found most villages they passed through: abandoned and burned with nothing to sustain the already tired troops. Napoleon held out for a month and waited for the surrender that never came. Instead, winter came for them and it brought down upon the Grand Army far more devastating losses than any fighting force the Russians previously sent.
Anna listened to the harrowing stories of the men while she bandaged their fingerless hands and toeless feet—casualties of the unyielding cold. They told tales of horses dying and hungry men chopping them up to feed themselves. Men dropped dead just as easily and their possessions—shoes, coats, or rations—taken just as quickly by their companions to survive. The Cossack raids still went on and woe it was to a regiment that became isolated or too weak to defend itself for it would be mercilessly cut to pieces.
Within days, little groups of men arrived at the hospital all with the same horrifying tales of winter defeat and damaged bodies. Barely any corpses arrived as no one bothered to retrieve them anymore. As a result, it became difficult to account how many troops still survived or identify who still lived. The missing list became the default position of every soldier not previously accounted as dead or injured.
Anna tried to get as much information as possible from the surviving soldiers about Kristoff's whereabouts. So far, not one Arendellian had turned up alive from the winter march. However, as soldiers from the same region were often designated in the same regiments, she figured there was a greater chance she could obtain news from soldiers coming from the states closest geographically to Arendelle. Her strategy worked for she managed to confirm the identities of eight dead Arendellians from two Coronans and a Northern Isles survivor over the last two weeks. The Weseltonian that came in today wearing a coat that bore the Arendellian floral crest had given her a ninth death confirmation.
"Any news, Anna?" Fria, one of her co-nurses asked as she stared apprehensively at the journal in Anna's hands. Almost everyone in the hospital knew Anna had a husband in the army and that she kept track of her people. Everyone liked Anna in general so the entire staff was always eager to tell her news of any sort that she might find useful.
"No news of Kristoff," Anna declared. "But I lost another one. A friend."
Fria quickly hugged her. "I'm sorry."
Anna savored the warmth from the Prussian girl's embrace. For a long moment, she let herself be comforted and allowed herself to shed a few tears. Fria reminded her of Elsa. She was the same age as Anna's sister and always seemed to know how to comfort her without needing words. It took her several minutes, but finally Anna managed to calm down and dry her tears.
"I'll be okay," said Anna when she finally recovered. "This man said the regiments had scattered off due to the raids. It's difficult to keep track of anyone now."
"You'll find him," Fria said encouragingly.
Anna merely nodded. She noted that Fria no longer specifically mentioned whether she would find Kristoff alive. She held no anger for her friend for she knew Fria was a realist. As hard as Anna wished it, it was becoming increasingly hard to hope that Kristoff would come back alive and well to her.
The hospital doors opened and someone barked that a fresh batch of patients had just arrived. Anna stiffened her back and put her journal back into the shelf and her thoughts aside. Emotions had to wait. There were patients that needed her.
The next several hours flew by as Anna concentrated on her tasks. The patients that just came in were some of the worst she had seen so far: hypothermia, severe dehydration and pneumonia were common. Others had infections from wounds they sustained previously that were made worse due to the exposure to the cold.
By the end of her shift, Anna was so exhausted that her nursing superior noticed. She ordered Anna to get some rest. Anna agreed without protest and was about to pack up for the day when Fria came running to her.
"Anna, one of the patients that came in today is from the Southern Isles. Someone saw his name and citizenship in the list they just posted."
Anna dropped everything and followed her friend to the bulletin board that had been set at the hospital lobby. It tallied mostly the dead and missing, but one shorter list on the corner announced the survivors.
The latest list of new arrivals was almost thirty names long but only one was indicated to be from the Southern Isles.
"Colonel Johannes Kristian Jorgenbjorgen," Anna read aloud and immediately giggled at the familiar name.
"Something funny?" asked a puzzled Fria.
"It's his name," Anna explained. "My sister has a stuffed penguin doll she called Sir Jorgenbjorgen. She named him after some boring politician she read about."
Fria laughed back. "Oh I get it. This Colonel survives because he has the same name as a penguin doll. It figures, a penguin survives the cold of Russia."
Anna laughed as well. It was so good to occasionally make jokes with a friend. It helped to release the tension over their daily encounters with tragedy. "Better yet, a penguin of the Ice Queen," Anna mused as she pictured a little man in a blue coat with one squinting eye—a human version of Elsa's doll. "Who knows, maybe he even looks like Elsa's penguin."
Using her finger, Fria traced an invisible line from the name to the opposite column that indicated the man's assigned room number. She immediately frowned. "He's in room 409," said Fria.
They both knew that was in the pneumonia ward. Pneumonia was among the more dreaded conditions in the hospital. Most of the men that had it didn't last long.
"Well I better see him now and talk to him before it's too late." Anna said.
They walked together in silence until they reached the appropriate wing. They inquired after the man on the nurse on duty stationed outside the room.
"The Colonel," the nurse nodded as she checked her list. "I remember him. He was quite a fighter. When he came in, the stitches on his shoulder from a previous injury were torn open. He's got several contusions on his chest, probably from shrapnel. It was treated before but it was pretty crude, must have hurt like hell. It's a wonder he's still alive after traveling those miles in the snow. He's been given the usual treatment for pneumonia. He's been purging for the last several hours but we've given him laudanum for the pain and he's asleep right now so there's no point in talking to him. If he does wake up within the next few hours, he might have a better chance of recovery."
Anna felt disappointed but she didn't want to miss this chance. It could be he might know something about Kristoff.
"Can I wait for him to wake up?" Anna asked.
The on-duty nurse gave Anna a sad smile. "It's worth a shot if you don't mind extending hours after your shift."
Anna thanked her and the duty nurse let her and Fria in. "He's in the bed in the farthest left corner."
Anna strode in, her mind still thinking of Elsa's penguin when she saw the man on the bed. He lay flat on his back and she could see from the rise and fall of his chest that he was breathing evenly in sleep. He wore no shirt for his torso was wrapped in a bandage that extended to his left shoulder. His messy hair lit the room with its distinctive colorful hue and did little to hide his face.
Her heart stopped.
Fria bumped into her. "What? Does Colonel Jorgenbjorgen really look like a penguin?" she joked.
Anna shook her head as she stared at him, unable to believe what she was seeing.
"His name is not Colonel Jorgenbjorgen," she said softly. She walked forward slowly until she stopped by the foot of the bed of the man she knew only too well.
"He's Prince Hans of the Southern Isles."
Author's Notes: I want to thank everyone who sent their reviews on the first chapter. This one will be a short story, just a few chapters, no way near the length of TQA, but I'm thinking of writing possibly another related story to it once I finish this one.
I did some research on illnesses that were common in the Napoleonic Era and pneumonia came up as among the deadlier ones due to the absence of antibiotics which is the standard treatment now. I found one reference that the treatment for pneumonia in the 1800s included bloodletting and giving the patient Antimony to induce vomiting and Mercury as a laxative to basically purge the body of the bad humors. We know now that both elements are highly toxic. So yes, if the sickness didn't kill you, an overdose of the cure did.
